


1: Holding hands

by GraciousK



Series: 30-day OTP Challenge: Johnlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Boys Kissing, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, Pre Reichenbach, Requited Love, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraciousK/pseuds/GraciousK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sweet, fluffy little piece that I wrote mostly to make myself smile. A portrait of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1: Holding hands

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for Day 1 in the [30 Day OTP Challenge](http://ericandy.tumblr.com/post/26596382488/ericandys-30-day-otp-challenge): "Holding hands".

They were holding hands, and it was _lovely_.

Sherlock kept glancing away from the laptop screen, first looking at their entwined fingers, then up at John. John sat and smiled and watched him. John could sit like this all day, smiling like a fool. Exactly how he felt, like a right fool, but he wasn't going to stop smiling anytime soon. Sherlock glanced over again, and this time favored John with a slight smile in return before looking back.

"You're in love," Sherlock remarked curtly, in the same tone one uses to point out spinach between someone's teeth. John couldn't help but laugh - _Sherlock, only Sherlock_. The tilt of Sherlock's head shifted a tiny bit, and his eyelashes fluttered. "I don't see what's so amusing."

"And you've deduced that, have you? That I'm in love." Sherlock's gaze snapped to John's face, and they shared a look. Anyone else would have thought Sherlock's eyes cold at that moment, but John smiled and smiled, warm down to his bones. "Can't imagine how you figured that one out. Must've been very difficult. How long'd it take you, again?"

When Sherlock smiled at this, John positively grinned. "Too long," Sherlock said.

Then the laptop was brusquely shoved to the side, and Sherlock was kissing him. John couldn't stop smiling, even against Sherlock's lips. _Too long._

"I, ah," Sherlock stammered, which he only did when distracted, "in hindsight, that is," distracted by John, planting kisses up Sherlock's long jawline, and John smiled again to realize that _he_ distracted Sherlock, "have pinpointed the exact moment you fell in love with me."

"Mmh?" John murmurred, through smiling lips that were now grazing those fine, high cheekbones.

"On the cab ride to that first crime scene." John kissed an errant curl that had strayed down Sherlock's forehead. "A Study in Pink."

John's smile turned tender. He didn't want to disappoint the man, but at that point the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "Sherlock, I-"

"Didn't realize it then, I know. But that's when you fell in love with me." John shook his head gently, his nose brushing Sherlock's cheek. " _That was amazing,_ " Sherlock intoned, capturing John's tone of voice precisely. "You were hooked." Sherlock turned his head, and fixed John with that piercing gaze again. "You were mine."

Then Sherlock kissed him again, and again. When they surfaced for air, Sherlock watched John expectantly. "Oh, bugger it all," John sighed. "I suppose you're right. Though that's not the moment I knew."

"When?" Sherlock said, and John could tell he wanted an answer so he could catalogue it, analyze it, pick it apart by the seams and put it back together again to see how John worked.

"When you were drugged by that woman."

"The woman." It wasn't a question, it was a confirmation.

John nodded. "You were conscious, barely, but not at all lucid, and it frightened you." John paused, waiting for the contradiction, but Sherlock merely watched him. "You couldn't think straight, and when you realized it, you'd get scared," John explained anyway. "And you called my name. Do you remember that?" Sherlock shook his head in a small, sharp movement. "You'd be leaning on me in the cab home, I'd think you were passed out, and suddenly you'd start up and call my name. And later on too, when I'd thought you'd gone to sleep."

John felt his cheeks flushing under Sherlock's gaze. He looked away, cleared his throat. "When I put you to bed, you looked so... God, I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"How did I look?"

Sherlock's hand worked its way into John's again. The gentleness of the gesture made John feel a little better about opening up. "You looked fragile. Vulnerable. Not a good look for you." John remembered leaning over Sherlock's bed to tuck a sheet around his knobby shoulders, dark curls accentuating the paleness of Sherlock's skin, stretching too thin across his bony frame. John remembered his heart swelling in his chest, as if it were going to pour out from between his ribs, remembered how he bent down and, "I kissed you. On the forehead." _Swore to myself I'd never tell a soul, but here I am._

"And you knew you loved me."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I knew I never wanted to see you hurt again."

"That's the important part, is it?"

"It was for me," John said simply. Then he stirred a bit under Sherlock's scrutinizing stare. "What about you? When did you realize..." John trailed off, not sure if he should say it aloud.

"That I love you?"

Those words set fireworks alight in John's head. His heart could burst right now, and John would still be smiling. John didn't think he would ever stop smiling, for the rest of his life.

Sherlock was smiling along with him now. "When I realized you'd shot that cabby."

"Because I saved your life, that's why you..." _fell in love with me._ John still couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, as if it would jinx the whole operation.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, John," he said with the tone of voice that John knew as patience, even though it sounded more like condescension. "Because you _observed_. The rest of the idiots require me to hold their hand through every step, tell them exactly what is required, and where and when and how and why, spoon-feeding them information because they're too stupid to just _think_. But you," Sherlock paused to kiss John on the forehead, "you knew where I was, and what I needed. And you came, all on your own."

John had to kiss him then, because _dear god_ was that far from the actual truth. John hadn't known a thing. He was just lucky, and he knew it.

As he kissed Sherlock, he smiled. _So very, very lucky._


End file.
